Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

I took the bus to West Seattle for a munch and, more importantly, to see Blue Moon Lady. Ahem. Victory: it only too me two buses and seventy minutes, instead of the previous three buses and ninety minutes.

It's been ages since I went that far on California Ave., if I ever did. It's got an impressive number of small businesses. i get the impression that West Seattle wouldn't suck as a place to live, except that it's notoriously hard to get anywhere else from there.

Had pleasant chats with kinky folk. Collected kinky stickers. Colored weird drawings. Drank tasty beer at Good Society, which is a microbrewery. Happiness.

I mentioned to BML that I hadn't seen her at the Blue Moon lately. She said I should reminder her via... means I have at my disposal. Go me!

But then it came time to go home. I gave up and called a Lyft because I just didn't feel up to a ninety-minute trip starting at 2100. Le sigh.

I went to shiny (i.e. latex) drinks last night. Happiness. I learned of a dangerous new place to shop, Polymorphe. I learned a little bit about latex repair. I talked to a bus driver in a latex shirt. And I got to see Rubbermaid! Pity I didn't remember about an event that I learned about from the munch until afterward.

Fun fact: Paulaner hefeweizen is significantly stronger than Manny's. The Merc has the former; the dive we were in last night carries the latter.

On Sunday I put on the fiftieth birthday outfit only with comfier (but not quite comfy enough) boots, and headed down to agra. I ran into DJ Wrain Havoc from Seattle's own Mercury! She's been to WGT any number of times, and when she goes, she goes hard: three days into the festival, she'd slept maybe six hours. I told her that at my age, I just couldn't do that. Even if I could, I think it would detract from the total experience for me.

Wrain Havoc bought me some local absinthe with some of her last cash euros*. It tasted for all the world like Scope mouthwash. I'm positive it wasn't Scope because I watched the preparation, with sugar cube, right there. But that was probably the most astounding food or drink experience of the entire trip. Being an ethnic WASP, I drank the Scope and carried on.

Wrain Havoc was there to see Los Angeles band Diva Destruction, an artist who'd come off several years' hiatus. It was old school goth — not generally my bag — but what struck me about them was that their front woman sounded a lot like Anisa Romero of Seattle psychedelic band Sky Cries Mary from the '90s. I'm a big SCM fan to this day, so it was a surprise nostalgia trip for me.

Wrain Havoc bailed to see an artist elsewhere, leaving me alone for UK band Editors. They... were good, but they didn't grab me as much as I expected them to. I'm tempted to say that if U2 went dark, it would be something like Editors. That may be less charitable than they deserve, but that's what I was thinking.

Monday's outfit was Action Goth: tartan leggings, black top, black patent Docs. The only band I had listed as a must-see was Kirlian Camera. I showed up a band early for them, expecting to see Vive La Fête. But no, there was a substitution called Welle: Erdball ("Wave: Globe"). Not only are they German; they may be the most wholesomely German band active today.

They set up five vertical screens a little taller than a person. For the first song they played keyboards projected onto the screens. The two men were wearing black suits and black leather gloves. The two women were in little peach dresses that they removed partway through the show to reveal sparkly underwear. There were synchronized dance moves. People — just the women? — on turntables. Giant ballons and paper airplanes thrown into the audience, which was singing along. Inflatable angel wings; a stage hand carried the inflator in and we all watched the wings expand for several seconds.

What do they sound like? Synthpop. Cheezy synthpop. This band has been around for about thirty years, and they are clearly beloved in their native Germany. Their live show is 10km over the top, and probably impossible to translate into English. This was Germans not taking themselves seriously and having fun, and it was a beautiful thing: Eurovision, only longer and more substantial. I've bought an LP of theirs, natch.

I walked out of there thinking, 'What have I just seen?!' According to Zuck's data mine, several of my friends have been into them for years and I'm just the last to know as ever.

I saw the first third or so of Italian band Kirlian Camera. The goth bombast was well done, but that kind of thing is is much more cupcake_goth's thing than mine. I quit while I was ahead. Thanks, WGT, for surprising me.



*Mental note: go to her night and buy her a damn drink sometime. Yeah, it's a weeknight, but come on.

I've been wanting to check out the new Base Camp 2 art space, where the long gone but prominent Bergman Luggage used to be. So I made arrangements to meet Tacoma Girl there. The trouble was, the web site gave me conflicting information: TG found a crew in there getting the place ready for their next show in March.

So we got a beer apiece at the Black Cat on 1st Ave, sat outdoors in our coats, and watched the bros and broettes walk by. But then Tacoma Girl had the idea of going to Fremont, and I said I knew just the place: Triangle Spirits.

I hadn't been there since before the pandemic. It doesn't seem to have changed much: the cocktails are still pretty great if not cheap. I had boozy egg nog that was to die for. Much chat was had as we swapped book recommendations, etc.

Oh: she's going to need a cat sitter next month because she'll be traveling with her mother, in case anybody has any recommendations.

But speaking of Fremont, I finally stopped in at the Lazy Cow Bakery on my way back from grocery shopping. They're full-on commies. Leftist orgs regularly meet there. They have a free food/comida gratis shelf. They have a Palestinian flag on one wall. Their baked goods are of course vegan, and I subjected them to an unfair test: I bought a day-old berry muffin. You know what? It was pretty good! I raise my fist in salute to the commie bakers & baristas of Lazy Cow.

Saturday evening was long: I went to Funny Lady's birthday shenanigans at Optimism Stoup. In the grandest FL tradition, she was over an hour late to her own party. By the time pizza arrived the other guests were morphing into pork chops and drumsticks, Warner Brothers style. And may I say that I miss Optimism's beer selection? Stoup has joined the conspiracy by Big Hops to sell us all IPAs all the time.

Stopped by chez R of namoda & R fame, snarfed his drink tokens, and promised to hang out. I have every intention of keeping that promise.

Made it to Seacompression using only one bus. ¡Viva el Ocho! Local Burners took over Fisher Pavilion and its lawn & roof.

Worthy of note: there were as ever competing sound systems, but Sam Lamb* and I agreed upon the best one. After they called it a night and were hanging out behind their tent, I asked them, "Who are you people?" It turns out they're Sundowners, the South African term for happy hour. Indeed, the ossum DJ who told me this has a South African accent, but he said they're from all over, as such camps tend to be.

So, am I burning with desire to return to Burning Man? I dunno. If I find the right situation I might, but if I have to pick between the Burn and Treffen I'm taking the latter. I've spoken with one Hardwarian, and I'd like to speak with more.

My metro mojo deserted me when I got skeeved upon while waiting for the E home. Ordered a lift that arrived with merciful speed. Yuck.

I so didn't get enough sleep on Saturday night or Sunday morning. I barely managed lunch with the Wendling, the bare minimum of housework, and Lambert House number crunching. I slept eight hours last night but could have easily gotten nine, I think.



*Yeah, that's her real name. I love saying "Sam Lamb". She sells real estate, she cute, she's charming, and she's damnably heterosexual.

Why have I been quiet on here the last few days? Because I took the train down to Portland, Oregon for the Vampire Masquerade Ball! This was my fourth time going, with the previous time being in 2019, and it's lost none of its excitement for me. Read on for gothy goodness. I wrote an outline.

Things didn't exactly start auspiciously when I woke up around 0400 Friday, headed for the bathroom in the dark, and tripped over the suitcase that I'd forgotten I'd put there. I hit my face on the edge of a wall, thereby leaving a long, neat line of broken skin from my cheekbone to my chin. I count myself lucky that I didn't break my nose. Hey, maybe it helps me look more devilish.

Having iced my face, I made it to the train with plenty of time to spare, which wasn't hard because it was delayed by "unplanned track maintenance". And then, a little over halfway to Portland, the conductor informed us that there was a disabled train with no power for A/C (!) and that we were going to go back and rescue it. We ended up arriving in Portland about two hours late. Luckily, the person I most wanted to meet up with – ack_yeahright – was on the train with me.

As always when the two of us get together, there was overindulgence. This time it was both eetz and drinx. Portland is a better restaurant town than it has any right to be given its size; my companion informed me that it's because there's a culinary school there. In any case, the Green Room gets full marks from me. My only complaint is that the portions were just a tad too large for me.

We hit Moxy, which I belatedly realized is a hotel bar. Think the W in Seattle, only gayer and with more space. We drank nice drinks, some of them fruity. There was a third place that ack_yeahright took us to was one that she'd said earlier was a biker bar, but when we walked in there was a long line and obvious gentrification. Welcome to Portland. That's when we called it a night.

Slept insufficiently. Then hit Powell's City of Books and consumed badly needed carbs & caffeine. For those of you who've never been to Portland, this is what you must do when you go to Portland. I ran into Comfy Lady in the café, who was down for a show. I looked for new issues of my favorite comics series, but ended up with a used copy of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Met up with cupcake_goth! I will confess that the chance to see her was very high on my list of reasons to be in Portland at all. She's back to emceeing the VMB for the first time since I was there last. Happiness.

Also there: someone I will label here as Frog Lady. She likes frogs. Her hair is green, as are many of her accessories. She's one of these people to whom I took an instant liking, but I unfortunately see her only once in a purple moon. She says that her health no longer permits her to get out and about much. Even ten years ago I didn't see her often. Too damn bad.

Napped. Praise Goddess!

Hit Toki, a Korean joint a few blocks away. Even shortly after 1700, which is when they open, they were mobbed, and for good reason. Their veggie noodles were amazeballs, and since I was at the bar I saw lots of artful cocktails under construction. (I just had some local rice lager, which tastes like... lager.)

Put the Devil Girl outfit on. Walked the three blocks to the Portland Art Museum, which was manageable even in my cloven-hooved Fluevog Grand Nationals. Chatted with an adorable apparent trans boy who'd come from Minnesota (!) for the VMB. Found a seat at the table with cupcake_goth, Froggy Lady & her beau, plus K and her brand new hubby. K deserves a goddamn paragraph.

K is an actual, factual fashionista who makes a dynamite outfit every time she goes to the VMB, which is more often than I do. This year was no exception. K loves to dance, and the way she'd weighted and reinforced the high-low skirt on that dress made it move, well, oh my. And she had this... collar, not exactly a ruff, made of boned black lace that stood straight up to the height of her head in back. There's probably a word for such things that I don't know. It was perfect for the event. And remember, this is the umpteenth outpouring of wearable creativity that I've seen by and on her since the mid aughts at the latest. It doesn't hurt that she's also really hot. Ahem.

And speaking of unfairly attractive women, when I was down in the vendor room there was a tall, slender woman with short, blonde, kinda gay (Foreshadowing!) hair who walked in wearing a stunning cream silk dress with wide red ribbon draped asymmetrically as trim. In that sea of dark clothing, even gorgeous dark clothing, it stood out like a beacon. I went up to her and complimented her on the dress. A minute or two later I was in the middle of the room with Frog Lady and Other K, when they mentioned that that was [Real first name]. Then the penny dropped.
"[Real full name]?" I asked. "Vienna La Rouge?"
Affirmative.
"Shit. Shit!"
Back in the aughts, before the Great Recession knocked out the Vogue, on Wednesday nights I used to go there and hang out with Vienna. She's a truly lovely woman in every sense. The last I heard, she left Seattle and her husband to pursue her burlesque career – for she's one of those good enough to make a career of it – in the Bay Area. I missed her.
At the VMB, I had to talk to her again. I explained that I hadn't recognized her the first time, and I had to explain to her who the hell I was. (Since she last saw me I've acquired purple hair, boobs, and hips.) She said that it wasn't too surprising that I couldn't recognize her with the much shorter hair. You see, she figured out that she's a lesbian. Oh, and she's moved back to Seattle.
There was a silent explosion in my head. "Welcome aboard!" I said.
She likes to hang out at the Mercury, she said. You know I do too. Our favorite night is Saturday. It kills me a little that my next two, maybe three Saturdays are spoken for. Oh by the way, she had a date. Yes, the date and I made prolonged eye contact at one point.

Back at the table I said to cupcake_goth, "Vienna La Rouge is back in Seattle and she's gay. Kill me before I do something stupid!"
"Go forth and sin, my child."
"She brought a date."
The esteemed MC appreciated my dilemma.

Indeed, Temptress told me later that night with great disappointment in her voice that Vienna is monogamous and has found someone good for her. And just to ice this cake, she says that V and I share the same unusual tastes that I don't write about in unlocked entries.

I talked to V again briefly after they turned on the house lights, pretty much reiterating what I said about the Merc. I must see her again, if only to confirm what Temptress told me. Oh. My. Goddess. Just think of what's happened with me since the last time I saw her: I started living as a woman, discovered the (ahem) unusual tastes, moved back into the city proper, etc. I can only imagine what's been going on with V.

By the way, Vienna La Rouge is a crack seamstress, like many burlesquers. There's an excellent chance that she made her dress, too.

I got flirted with by a woman – yet another crack costumer with a fella – who'd met me at Funny Lady's. I remembered her mercifully unusual name, but I hadn't recognized her. This was actually the third face blindness experience I had that night. Vienna and Other K were the other two.

There was only one dark spot to all of this: jengalicious's ex, who was there with Temptress and even on the same trains as I was. He kept turning up like a bad penny, at one time even sharing a hotel elevator with me. (Temptress seemed to have a knack for getting away from him for long enough to talk to other people who didn't want to go near him.) He's surely aware that he's despised by the whole Seattle contingent with the exception of his girlfriend, whom I've warned about him. Just as I was leaving the hotel, I saw Shiny H, who told me about her reason to hate him, which has nothing to do with the ones that the rest of us share. The man is truly a walking trash fire.

I did see Shiny H & girlfriend G, the latter of whom had never been before, during the event, but they bailed uncharacteristically early due to H's health issues. Sadness.

One more restaurant: the Daily Feast. It's a brunch joint, Portland style, meaning hot gay boy waiters and müsli pancakes with chai. I was lucky to get a seat at the bar when I did. Also yummers.

Tried reading my book in the shade by the public library to kill time before I got on the train, but people on the street made it weird. I went back to the hotel, said a final goodbye to folks and called a ride share to the train. (I later found out that I could have taken the light rail. Next time.)

The train home was zippy and uneventful. If all goes well, it's really the best way to get to & from Portland from Seattle.

Earlier yesterday I'd toyed with the idea of going to Flammable, Seattle's long-running house music night, because it's a long weekend here in the US of A. Hahahaha. No, I unpacked, crashed, and got eight hours of sleep for the first time in about a week.

This trip exceeded expectations, which were already pretty high.

A mixed-sex couple who I met through Funny Lady – I shall call them Wine Shrink and Z – took me out to a wine tasting at Flight on Capitol Hill, followed by dinner at Plum. It was lovely, and I now feel as I'll be at best second up against the wall when the revolution comes.

Wine Shrink and I have certain... tastes in common. I should get in touch with her about that. She's also someone who's expressed a professional interest in my sex toy, and has provided valuable information about the business side of it.

Was it a date? I'm not the only one to ask that question. I don't think so. Yes, Wine Shrink is queer, but a) it didn't feel like a date, b) she brought her dude, and c) I'm much too old and homosexual to be a unicorn, and I'm pretty sure they knew that going in.

Do I wish it had been a date? You know, I wouldn't have minded. I really wouldn't have minded. I must grudgingly admit that Z seems all right, though.

I more or less finished a high-visibility, high-stress two-week work project yesterday afternoon. Naturally, I went down the hill to celebrate.

Taiwanese dumpling joint that I've never tried? No bar seating, and I didn't feel like being alone at a two-top.

Nuna Ramen? Not yet open.

Brouwer's? Hell yes! Mm, Belgian trippel with my fish & chips & curry ketchup. I learned that they're going to have a Bierlesque night there on April 6th. That's not my jam, but it is that of the Tickler, et al. I also (re?)learned that they have a barleywine festival every February, and I love barleywine. Edited to add: Brouwer's has tons of stickers and art, often hilarious, that are best seen from the bar.

On the way there, I stopped by the little shop a mere block and a half from my place that I've seen an older gentleman lovingly remodeling. This time, there were two fellows, both able to talk. Even though I'd noticed what looked like ice cream tubs, I asked them what the place was going to be. The guy with the grey pony tail who I was used to seeing said, "Espresso, gelato, and crepes," pointing to the places where each would be made. They're trying to get licensed for performances (!) in the back of the space.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I moved here for the convenience to both Green Lake and downtown. But possibly the largest attraction of Fremont, both lower and upper, is the food & beverages.

Oh: as of this morning I'm boosted for COVID, CDC & Walgreens be damned, and completely vaccinated for shingles. Take that, bugs!

The esteemed DJ & promoter seelenschwester decided to call last night, the anniversary of the Mercury's reopening, its rebirthday, which is the same word I use for my anniversary of beginning to live as a woman. Between that and the amazing time I had at the reopening, I had to go.

There was pre-funking at the Wildrose and chatting to Martha, but once again I didn't give any of my queer lady friends notice so none of them joined me. I really have to stop doing that. The short notice, that is, not the Wildrose.

The Merc was lovely as ever, and A excitedly showed me her pictures of Thailand. Shallow Fashion details: the violet brocade corset from Dark Garden as I wore to the reopening, my boot licker skirt from Gallery Serpentine, black over-the-knee Fluevog Truth boots, and every glittery violet accessory I own.

But even more than any dolled up sweet thangs at either the 'Rose or the Merc, what captured my attention is that the Mercury is once again carrying more than one kind of absinthe – three, to be exact. (I had the St. George. Mm, tasty.) That hasn't been true since the early teens, maybe not even since the '09 recession. If we're going to make things like they were in the aughts, can we make it so the Merc staff can make rent off tips? That would be even better than a bigger absinthe selection.

Oh: I got sucked into the tail end of "Johnny Mnemonic" on the screens. I rolled my eyes at how William Gibson's short story, which I read in Omni magazine in 1983, got beaten into a standard Hollywood product. Do yourself a favor and read the story.

Another thing I need to stop doing is expecting a reasonable wait to catch a bus from the U District to Fremont after midnight. I didn't hoof it all the way home this time, just to Wallingford where I watched groups of young people leaving various establishments. Then I caught a bus home. Sheesh.

Oh: I'm totally hitting the Merc on Christmas Eve because a) I have nothing better to do that evening, b) this I gotta see, and c) my Big Red Dress needs some love and is perfect for the occasion.

I did another sticker patrol around Green Lake early yesterday evening. Somebody had slapped an anti-communist sticker on top of another one based on a Pride flag. I'm not that big a commie, but no way do you mess with my people. I started removing it when another boomer dude walked up and asked me why I was doing that. I just told him, "You put an anti-communist sticker on top of a gay sticker, I remove the anti-communist sticker." He kept walking the way he'd been walking.

I ran into ocicat just seconds after that, and we got to chat around the lake, especially about rigel_p. I was able to verify that the stickers have not returned.

Oh: I am not the only person removing right-wing and anti-vax stickers from Green Lake. I'm certain of it, because I didn't get the south and southwest stretches of the trail last time. I'm also more thorough about rendering stickers illegible.

Last night La Fashionista & I hit Oliver's Twist. It was jumping! If I weren't a maniac about punctuality we might not have gotten a table. The cocktails are right on as ever, but the truffle popcorn has been replaced with southeast Asian eats. Not that the new eats are bad at all, but I miss that popcorn; I think I could still smell it near the restroom. Next weekend the two of us are resolved to introduce Tacoma Girl to the Wildrose. It's surprising and appalling that she's never been.

Phinney is returning to pre-pandemic behavior by stealth. It looked like all of the bars & restaurants on Phinney Ridge were busy last night despite vile weather. People were almost as masked up as they could be, but when you're eating and drinking...

On the bus to get my legs sugared today, I ended up sitting across from a woman about the Wendling's age with Goth-adjacent fashion – I remember the blue & green plaid bell bottoms and platform Docs especially – and truly impressive makeup with two-tone hair. As I got up to get off, she complimented my outfit*. I of course had to return the compliment. That kind of made my day, which has otherwise been filled with napping and laundry.



*Shallow fashion details: black patent 14-eyelet Docs, red velvet broomstick skirt over a black tiered velvet & satin skirt, short black trench coat, vintage black patent collar from Sin, black wishbone earrings. Zero makeup because I left the Devil Girl Pad in a mad rush.